by Christa Wick
Small advances and retreats of his body force the shaft up and down my clit. My hands find his hips and fasten around them. I want to cry -- from pleasure, from confusion, from the dozen different emotions whipping through me.
It's not as if I live a sheltered life. I know about sex. I have viewed it on television and in movies, heard its sounds through thin walls, interrupted its early stages far too often in separating Rose from her latest boyfriend when she was a teenager.
But, whatever the medium, I have only and always been the outsider, the viewer, the listener -- until now.
Luke brushes his thumbs across my cheeks then kisses each one in turn. I realize my desire to cry has progressed to actual tears.
"Are you afraid, Marie?"
He sounds concerned again, like he will stop if I admit I am afraid. He has no right to sound tender and gentle. He has blackmailed me into this bed. I shut my eyes, more tears falling as I struggle with my arousal and anger.
His mouth finds my ear, his hand caressing a path down my body. His fingers smooth over my mound then slide inside me once more. I squeeze around him, thighs tightening, hips lifting. A fresh moan curls its way past my lips and I give a little upward pump against his fingers.
I haven't answered Luke's question, but he has ways to make me talk. I don't even have to open my mouth to tell him everything he needs to know.
Afraid or not, I want him.
He rolls onto his side, his hands and mouth leaving me. I suppress the traitorous whine scratching at my throat as I roll with him. I pull my legs up, my arms protectively covering my breasts.
Seeing me curl in a fetal position, Luke smiles. His attempt to flatten the expression turns it wry, just the corners of his generous lips flipping upward. Blinking, he turns away and sits up.
I study his back. Light olive brown and muscled, it makes my fingers itch with the need to stroke the supple flesh. I roll my lips in appreciation, my gaze jumping, as he extends his arm and opens the drawer on the nightstand next to the bed.
I don't pay the slightest attention to the drawer or his interest in its contents. My attention whispers along the slight turning of his narrow waist, the glimpse of his firm, shapely ass as he leans forward, the flex of his shoulder and biceps as he reaches into the drawer.
Mesmerizing.
Withdrawing his hand, Luke places an object on the nightstand.
Seeing the object, I freeze then thaw just long enough to shake my head. Whatever that black, rubbery column of three balls of increasing size is called, it is not going in me. I don't care which direction or which hole. It isn't going in. Period.
Looking from that thing to Luke's face, I see his wry smile split a little wider. He breaks it with a lick of his bottom lip then reaches back into the drawer. He pulls out something I recognize -- a leather flogger, its suede strips cascading over the edge of the nightstand. I press my lips together, my gaze narrowing to ensure my entire face is tightly locked down in disapproval.
"Which part of complete submission don't you understand, Marie?"
There is a tease to his voice, playful and sexy, but I am not about to be suckered in by it or by that charming lift of one brow or the way his eyes glitter when he looks at me. Those are just the effects of light and acoustics and--
My brain comes to a full stop as he pulls out a third item -- something that looks like a metal antenna but narrower and without the little knob at top.
I suck a breath in, the air entering me with a choked, wheezy cry. I blink, my eyes shuttering and opening a couple dozen times in the space of a few seconds as every muscle in my body constricts defensively.
"Marie..." Luke drops the rigid strip of metal and lightly rests his hand against my cheek.
I pull back. He knows how to please a woman, I have no doubt on that point, but that switch, or whatever it is, has nothing to do with pleasure.
"Is it this?" Bending down, he retrieves the rod from where it landed on the floor.
I flinch. His sharp gaze catches my reaction and he slowly brings the tip to rest against my cheek. His eyes narrow in concentration and he moves the switch a fraction of an inch to the right. I know what he is studying so intently. The line of the scar is thin and faint, undetectable with makeup on, but I am not wearing makeup.
"What happened here?" He strokes the tip of the switch over the scar.
I close my eyes. I don't want to talk about it. I won't.
My expression must reflect unrelenting obstinacy because he orders me to roll over. He guides me with a hand on my shoulder until I am flat on my stomach. His hands brush the hair from my back and then his fingers gently explore my flesh. He takes his first long pause at the bottom edge of my left shoulder blade. I screw my eyes more tightly shut, trying not to remember the way my father's belt strap cut into me once as I tried to run.
Luke's fingers resume their slow walk down my spine. He leans closer, his breath light and warm against the center of my back as he inspects two more faded scars. Same belt, different nights. Pressing my face deeper into the pillow, I clench my right hand in a fist.
"Show me your hand."
Nothing escapes his attention it would seem. Trying to comply, I lift my left hand and press it to his chest.
"Not the one I want." His soft, tender voice reminds me for a moment of my mother despite the clear masculine timbre. Resting his arm across my bottom, he strokes the tense lines of my fist.
I refuse to relax the hand. He sighs, the heat of his breath sending a shiver up my spine. Retreating, he strokes my shoulder and tells me again to roll over. I raise my face just enough from the pillow to speak.
"If you stop your inventory." My emotions too raw to look at him, I hide my face against the pillow once more.
He strokes my back. "Show me your hand and I will."
I shake my head, the motion lost in the down-filled pillow.
"Roll over." Nothing soft remains in his voice. This is a command, calm but resolute. He won't let go of the issue until I obey.
I roll over. The movement brings my right hand to his side of the bed. I feel as transparent as a child in trouble, but I cannot help tucking it beneath me, the palm open and flat against the mattress.
"Look at me, Marie."
I answer with another shake of my head. I am afraid of what I will see -- pity or a sadistic monster getting off on my prior pain. Either is unacceptable. Feeling Luke move, I brace against his anger even though he has yet to explode in my presence.
He drapes an arm across my chest as his weight settles onto the bed and his body sinks toward me. His lips press lightly against one shoulder while his fingers stroke the other. "The scar on your cheek is from some kind of metal rod."
I clamp my lips together. I don't want to discuss my childhood, my scars or the man who gave them to me.
Luke redirects his focus from my shoulders to my head. He brushes his chin against my ear, his hand cradling the other side of my face. "There are no abuse reports because your father kept the three of you out of school and never stopped moving."
I screw my face tighter. Shifting, Luke covers me with his body. His arms support his weight so that I feel only the animal heat radiating from his skin and the reassuring bulk of his cock and balls as they settle against the Y of my clenched thighs.
I realize he had gone soft. My reaction to his toys didn't turn him on. His voice reflects understanding, not pity.
I open my eyes to find him studying my face. Fierce concern stamps his features, deepening my confusion. Why would a man forcing me to sleep with him in return for helping me rescue my sister give a damn about how my father treated me? Why would a man with those kind of toys in his nightstand not be rock hard seeing the fear they create in me?
Luke strokes my hair from my face, his fingers combing through it to loosen the tangles. Doing so, he looks away for a few seconds. When his gaze returns to hook mine, his eyes shimmer with an unexpected wetness. "Tell me, Marie."
I open my mouth,
close it to swallow, then suck a deep breath in. Luke rests his cheek against mine, gently quieting my fear and hesitation.
"One of the twins broke the antenna on a portable television." Remembering my father's discovery, I roll my lips in fear just as I did that long ago day. "The twins were three."
"So you said you broke it." Luke rubs the back of his fingers against the line of my chin.
"Yes." A sobby little hiccup erupts from my chest. Tommy had been napping on the couch that day. Finding him in the same room as the broken antenna and television, my father had lifted him roughly by the arm before I could run into the room screaming that I had broken it. The first blow with the metal wand landed on my cheek. Usually careful not to leave marks the neighbors could see, my father had then wrapped one giant hand around my face and used the wand on the back of my head four more times.
"It's okay, baby. He's never going to hurt you again." Luke pulls away, his hand seeking mine. Finding it, he coaxes me into turning it palm up. "And this?"
I closed my hand but he gently pries the fingers away. "It looks like a cigar burn."
I nod. "His last cigar two days after I spoiled a con. The woman...it was all the money she had...I was twelve."
Luke kisses the scar, then carefully closes my fingers over the mark. "Your father is lucky he's in prison."
The tight, low rumble of his voice turns the words into a death sentence. I look at Luke's face for a few seconds before the intensity of his gaze forces me to look away.
"I didn't know that." My body relaxes another fraction as I finally let go of a fear I have carried for six years. "For how long?"
"Another decade, at least." He sits up, his hands caressing my body as he continues. "Without you, his cons completely fell apart. He was busted twice the first year, the second time while he was out on bail and awaiting trial. A mix-up on the docket got his sorry ass out of jail again. It would have been a matter of hours before they discovered the error and put him back in jail. I guess that's why he immediately robbed a liquor store with a Bowie knife."
Luke traces the edge of my bottom lip with his finger. "What I can't figure out is how such a stupid, mean bastard produced a daughter like you."
I turn my head to the side. He is being almost sweet, attempting to make me feel better after his toys upset me. Instead, I feel more self-conscious and three times as confused about him as before. We are in his bedroom, naked as the day our mothers birthed us, and consent is...questionable. I mean, it doesn't exactly matter if I want to when Luke has left me no choice.
"Marie, I know your father told you with every hit, every cut, and every burn that you weren't worth loving." Clearing his throat, Luke exerts enough pressure on my chin to coax me into looking at him again. He lowers his head, his warm brown gaze leveling my resistance as he claims a small, soft kiss before speaking again.
"Baby, he lied."
Looking at the flogger and metal switch, I shake my head. "If he lied, what are those for?"
With a single pass of his hand, Luke sweeps everything back into the drawer. "When you're ready, however long it takes to reach that point, I'll show you."
**********
Fingers stroke through my hair. Lips whisper across my mouth. Slowly, I surface from a troubled dream to find Luke Masters cradling me.
"Baby, do you always kick in your sleep?"
My gaze bashfully falling somewhere between our bodies, I blush. "Sorry."
"That's an apology -- which I accept -- but I want an answer."
"Not always, just a lot." Shrugging, I try to process the fact that I managed to fall asleep in his strong arms and he is still holding me.
Not that I mind his arms around me right now. It feels pretty fabulous -- and beyond weird. I know next to nothing about him, yet he seems to know everything about me. Granted, half of my life is probably in some police databank somewhere, but what he doesn't know outright, he senses on some deeper level.
"It takes a long time being safe to grow out of it." Sighing, he gives me another sweet kiss.
I look at him, see too much understanding for me to be comfortable with and look away. Hoping to change the subject, I try to sit up.
Luke won't let me. Drawing me closer, he buries his face against my neck.
That, too, feels fabulous, but I wiggle against his embrace. "I need to check my phone."
"Your phone is fine. The line is monitored, no call will slip by." Beneath the bedding covering us, he trails his fingers over my flesh. "And Tommy is fine. You'll see him at dinner."
I frown, as annoyed with my own predictability as I am with Masters' ability to intuit the thoughts running through my head. Hopefully he can't read my mind entirely because the faint strokes against the back of my thighs are affecting other parts of my body and I would rather not have him realize this fact.
Luke's chuckle yanks my attention to his face. Pushing me onto my back, he kisses me.
"Your color changed, baby. That lovely cream skin went pink right here." Bringing his hand up from under the covers, he lightly taps my cheek three times in quick succession. He pushes up on one elbow while his free hand lowers the sheet to expose my chest. He palms a breast. "Here."
He slides down my body, nuzzling my breasts and pushing the bedding onto the floor. Lifting his head to capture a nipple, he inspects the flesh of my lower body. He smooths his hand over the hair covering my mound. Still sucking at my breast, he draws the nipple taut then releases it with a wet pop before gently pinching one plump thigh. "And here."
His head swivels until he is gazing directly into my eyes. Grinning, he works his fingers between my thighs. Running the tip of one over the wet seam of my labia, the grin turns into a toothy smile full of confidence. "Miss Lafayette, I do believe you are ever-so-slightly attracted to me."
I close my eyes, trying not to blush or smile or...
"Mmmm-ooh..."
Moaning, I arch my back and fling one leg to the side. I latch onto his shoulder and press my nails into his skin. His fingers teasingly explore the hot, sopping interior of my cunt until I confess.
"Maybe...a little."
"I can work with a little." His mouth returns to my breasts, and the only sounds for a few seconds are his sucking kisses against my flesh and the slurping play of his fingers inside my pussy.
My moans quickly join the chorus.
Followed by my gasps.
And, finally, a soft, whining plea to let me come.
"Yes." My fingers curl in Luke's hair as he weaves a line of kisses across the swell of my stomach. His large, muscular frame moves to fill the space between my parted thighs. Releasing his hair, I push up on my elbows and watch him spread my lower lips.
He is the first to see me like this -- to even want to see me like this. His gaze shining with sensual approval, his hands manipulate the thick, slippery folds of my sex.
"Such a lovely pink pussy, baby." His face pushes forward. His mouth disappears as it descends into the silky brown hair and he starts to suckle my clit.
My nipples, already hard, pucker to smaller points. I toss my head back, the soft grind of my hips stirring a fresh moan. Luke groans in return, the vibrations rippling across and through my cunt. He eases two fingers into me, the first few strokes narrow. He widens them, stretching my virginal opening in preparation for his cock. The strokes continue -- a little faster, wider, rougher.
I buck, cry out. My shoulders hit the mattress and my head digs into the pillow as I lift my hips. Three fingers plunge into me, his tongue and lips incessant against my clit -- sucking, pushing, pinching. His fingers flex, thrust, retreat, fuck in again, wide and deep until I scream through another hard wave of release.
Only then does Luke slow. His tongue replaces his hand, the licks turning gentle and relaxing. Wet with my juices, a finger plays against the tense, nervous rim of my anus. His nose rubs at my clit with each probe of his tongue inside my cunt. Throaty, ravenous noises leave him. My thighs press against his ears as the soun
d of him feasting pushes me closer to another climax.
With my attention focused on my pussy, my ass relaxes just enough to accept the tip of one squirming finger. Pleasure radiates from the bundle of nerves and muscles he has invaded. When I suck a breath in and release an approving moan, he pushes until he is in up to the middle joint.
Fuck -- the teasing play of his finger in my ass draws the muscles of my pussy tighter. Pressure stacks along my clit, my cunt narrows and coils around his tongue. My hips work with him, moving to take more of his finger and tongue inside me. I lace my fingers around the back of his head, letting him know I want him exactly where he is.
"Yes…" I squirm, wiggle, cunt and ass pulsing rhythmically against the intrusions.
His shoulders flex to push my thighs further apart. I lift, settle, needing some intangible alteration to push me that last inch forward and over the edge. A second finger drives into me. I gasp and force my thighs as wide as they will go. He thrusts again, smooth and deep as my ass tenses and my mound presses more firmly against his forehead.
Lifting his head just a fraction, his mouth finds my clit again and he throttles the shaft and hood as his fingers plunge one last time and I come harder than I could have ever imagined.
When I open my eyes a minute later, Luke covers me with his body. He kisses me, the taste of my juices on his lips. I surge against him, my ass pushing against the mattress so that my mound rubs against his erection.
"Please," I whisper, my voice barely audible.
His lips brush over my ear. "How many lovers, Marie?"
"None." I choke out the admission, still worried he will stop once he knows.
He pulls away. I try to hold him to me, too needy and wrecked to be ashamed that I would cling to him or any man.
"I'm not stopping, love." Reaching back, he cups my cheek then runs his hand down to squeeze my breast. "I just don't want you to have any new worries."